


The Glory That's You

by Kim Gasper (mickeym)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1997-12-30
Updated: 1997-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-08 14:46:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeym/pseuds/Kim%20Gasper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair's thoughts as he watches Jim sleeping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Glory That's You

I prop myself up on one elbow and watch you sleeping, glad it's an easy one tonight. Too many nights in the last couple of weeks have been disturbed by nightmares; you're starting to look a little ragged around the edges.

I glance across the bed to the clock on your night-table, wishing again that I'd set it on my side. *You* have the sentinel abilities, not me. I can't see in the dark. Not easily, anyway. Nearly 2:00a.m. If you're going to have it, it'll be soon. The nightmares happen at the same time every night; at the time I was scheduled to die at Rosalio's hands. I never doubted for a minute that you would get there on time; maybe that's why I don't have nightmares, I don't know.

You got there three minutes before the deadline, leaving a trail of death in your wake.

I don't like death; dislike even more the seemingly endless stream of senseless death that I've seen in my years now as a police observer. But man, that night I was ready for it. You were something to behold, for sure.

You draw in a ragged breath, interrupting my train of thoughts, then settle down again when I stroke my hand down your chest. We're both still naked, having loved, then loved again, before going to bed. I let my eyes wander down you, taking in your full glory.

You are an impressive specimen, James Ellison; naked, even more so. You're the perfect size for me; my head reaches your lips, which is perfect for both of us for nuzzling. You're broad, muscular, sculpted. All that working out that you still do defines your body, turning you into a living work of art. I lean over and kiss you gently, my lips brushing over one tightly puckered nipple. Whether you're cold, or dreaming, I don't know, but your normally flat nipples are hard little buds. I taste you with the tip of my tongue, then pull back, not wanting to wake you just yet, needing more time to savor you.

I love to watch you sleep. You say the same thing about me, and I used to wonder about it, until one night you zonked out on me and I was still wide awake. When you're sleeping, the stress and worry and tension of days fall away, stripping the mask from your face. You look years younger, Jim, and I can see the boy who became the man I fell in love with. Sometimes I think about the things that put that mask there…and my heart aches for that boy. It's usually at this point that I have to physically push away a little, else risk pulling you into my arms, and waking you. Which isn't what I want to do yet.

It's funny to compare our bodies sometimes; you're nearly bald as an egg, and I'm as hirsute as the monkeys I used to study. One little line of hair running from your navel to your pubes…but it's the sexiest line of hair I've ever seen. Sexiest navel, too. I love to poke my tongue in there and wiggle it around. Doesn't take me long to get you squirming and moaning for me.

I push the sheet back just a little and look at the rest of you. Strong thighs and calves. Slender, almost ridiculously small feet for a man your size. You'd expect small feet from a little guy like me; big hulking thing like you must surely wear monster shoes. You floored me the day you told me they were only size tens. Your cock is nestled in a neat bush of brown curls; lighter than my own, with a finer texture. According to you, anyway. I've never been able to tell, myself. It's beautiful, this symbol of your maleness. Flaccid like it is now, it's not very impressive, but wickedly aroused, like you were earlier, it's truly a sight. Long, thick and rosy, faint blue veins running the length. When you're at full arousal and needing release so bad you're aching, you leak tiny droplets of moisture, teasing me to come for a taste. Your balls are hanging loose, relaxed right now; earlier they were drawn up tight against your body while you poured yourself into me. I can still feel the sweet ache from penetration, the dampness from your seed and my sweat.

I would take you into my body a hundred times a night, if I could. It's never enough, no matter how many times we love.

We used to call it love-making, if it was slow and gentle; fucking if it was hard and fast. Now it's all loving, because that's what we do. We love each other. Your love is a gift to me like nothing no one else has ever given. I can never repay the debt I incurred when it was given to me; all I can do is try to be worthy of it.

It's time to wake you now, and show you what my observations of you have done to me. Looking at you, touching and tasting, however briefly, remembering you, have all served to rouse me fiercely. I can feel the fire burning through me and need you; only you can quench that. You'll turn over for me, you have before. There are no defined roles in this relationship; only reciprocity and loving. The only definition is that I am yours and you are mine.

Your nipples tighten when I brush my fingertips over them, lightly, gently. I move onward, following the hard lines of your body, softly trailing my way downward to your cock; quiet still, but plumper than before. Even asleep your body is attuned to me, the beginnings of arousal stir in you as I touch, then taste, following my fingers with lips and tongue.

I work the hard buds with my tongue, tasting a faint tang of salt, probably left from our exertions earlier. You're shivering beneath me now, and a catch in your breath indicates that you're awake.

"Blair?" Your voice is sleepy, soft, your hand moves to tangle in my hair.

"Here, lover," I say quietly, my own voice rough with the desire coursing through me.

Your body arches a little, pushing the hot bud further into my mouth. I suck strongly, then nip at it with my teeth, my own pulse quickening when I hear little whimpers and mewls coming from you. I bite again and you hiss something that sounds like 'yes', driving upward into my mouth. Tempting morsels that they are, there are other delights further down, awaiting my attentions. I leave your nipples, aching and stinging like my own, and nip and lick my way down, tasting every bit of you.

Your cock is waiting for me, standing proudly, it's rosy tip wet and shiny already. I lick across the top, savoring the biting flavor of the pre-ejaculate there, spreading it with my tongue. I probe the tiny fissure there, reveling in the shaking that takes over your body, the small cries and gasps you make.

Your hands are stroking me, rubbing my tense muscles, caressing my back and ass. I love your touch as much as I love touching you; if there was a way for us to love each other at the same time, to be joined to the other at once, I'd do it in an instant.

I suck your cock deep into my mouth, taking you all the way to the root. You gasp, your fingers digging into my skin, then a low, keening cry begins as you try to hold still while I work you with my mouth and tongue. I run my tongue up and down your thick shaft, loving the feel of you between my lips. You taste wonderful; salty and bitter, and so very alive and hot, the blood pulsing under the thin skin. My other hand reaches for your balls which are drawing up against your body again, tightening with their need to release your seed. I stroke them, fondle them, rub them. Soft skin, wiry hair, pulsating heat. My mouth leaves your cock and moves lower to take first one, then the other of the soft sacs into, sucking gently, massaging with my tongue. You groan above me, your body slowly writhing under my hands.

"Blair, please," I hear you moan, your hands reaching for my head. I duck out of the way and move lower, pushing your legs apart.

"In time, lover," I soothe in a quiet voice. My breath is coming in ragged pants now and I'm so hard and hot for you that I can hardly hold back. One more place on your body to taste; the center of your being, that most private and intimate parts of your body. The first time I put my mouth on you there, you drew back in a panic. Now you beg me for it, your voice ragged and rough when you ask me to lick you, to tongue that puckered little rose.

You're begging now, though I can't hear the words. The heat inside me is so great that I'm outside of anything, only touch and taste are within my realm of comprehension. I slide my tongue over the small ridges of your anus, then back up again, pausing to swirl around the pucker several times. Gentle lapping and nibbling at the pulsing flesh bring a harsh cry to my ears as your body strains toward my mouth. I stab my tongue into your center, then out again, penetrating you only marginally, loving the taste of you that fills me. You push down against me, forcing my tongue deeper into you. Your channel is hot; fire-hot, burning me, beckoning me inward. Velvet-soft, nuclear-hot, this is the essence of you, the place I need to be more than anything. I make love to you slowly, wetly, stroking my tongue in and out of this heated place, feeling you grasping at me like a tiny, sucking mouth.

Your muscles begin to loosen and relax against my tongue, your body spreading open for me. I alternate my tongue-thrusts with long, slow licks that cover your entire area from anus to balls and back, laving the whole area lovingly. You're shuddering under me now, your cock upright and drooling, needing release. My own cock is trapped between my body and the bed, surging and pulsing, aching to be buried deep in the heat my mouth is enjoying. I wet two fingers and slide them into you, my body quivering at your cry of need that splits the air. My own body shakes with the sound, and I add a third finger to be sure, laughing silently with joy when you push against me.

"Please," you whisper hoarsely, barely able to speak. "I need you, Blair·"

"You got me, lover," I respond, my hands shaking as I remove the lube from the table. I slick it onto my cock, then rub some against you for good measure. I've wet your hole thoroughly, but I don't want any pain for you. Just pleasure, just loving.

Your body tenses when I slide into you, sheathing myself in one slow, continuous motion. You grasp me to you, pulling my head down to yours for a kiss that rivals the internal heat of your body with its temperature. Core meltdown is probably cooler than what we've generated here tonight.

"Oh…god…so hot, baby…" I can't help the moan that's pulled out of me; your body is setting my own on fire, an inferno becoming an out-of-control conflagration. My hips find a rhythm immediately, alternating short thrusts with long, slow strokes. You shake again, body trembling under mine, pulling me in again for another kiss. I stroke my tongue over yours as my cock strokes the inside of your body. You rub upward against me, seeking friction for your own release.

I shift our positions so that your legs are around me, and I can watch you stroke your cock as I move in you. Our bodies throb together, the blood pounding through both of us, hearts beating in time. We move faster, an elegant dance of lust and desire, love and longing. I feel you tighten around me as your whole body stiffens; I have barely time to thrust again before it's all too much and your orgasm pulls me into the whirlwind as well. On and on, a storm battering me on all sides; your heat and tightness pulling on me, the wet of your seed as it hits my chest. The sensation of being closed in, pressure on my own cock, the pure exquisite feeling as my own seed rushes from me to fill you. I thrust into you several times, in an effort to release myself deep within you, to stay and never leave. Eventually I have to, and with a small moan of loss and frustration when your body expels my now-flaccid cock, I collapse next to you.

"You're beautiful," you tell me, stroking your hand down my face.

"Funny, that's what I was thinking about you," I respond, kissing your fingers when they brush over my lips.

"What were you thinking about?" You yawn and I look at the clock. Almost 3:00a.m.

"Just you. The glory that's you."

You're embarrassed. "There's nothing glorious about me. Just a middle-aged cop."

"A middle-aged cop who I love and who loves me back." I kiss you gently. "And you're so much more, Jim. So much. I'll tell you later; go back to sleep for now, lover."

"Love you, Blair." Another yawn, your eyes closing as you cuddles close to me.

"I love you, Jim." You're glorious, all right. And part of what makes you that way is your ignorance of it.

~finis~


End file.
